Dare Devil
by KimieArato
Summary: Mike Chilton has grown accustomed to the rush of adrenaline. But when is it too much? He finds out the hard way, leaving a rather flustered Chuck as his care taker.
1. Adrenaline Rush

_"One day you're going to get yourself killed."_

_..._

Being an adrenaline junkie wasn't exactly the best way to cope with stress; and stress was certainly something Mike Chilton had an abundance of. The constant, over-hanging threat and fear of attack could really take it's toll on a person. Of course, Mike wasn't alone in this struggle, not at all. He had his burners, his friends, even all of Motorcity behind him. But when it came down to it, Mike was the one to shoulder it all.

The pressure was enough to make anyone on edge and high strung, but _this_ leader was the poster child of calm and collected...usually.

So, in times when that "usually" started to become a "definitely," Mike needed an out. This where adrenaline seeped in and offered it's sweet relief.

That rush of energy would course through his body, like a jolt of electricity shocking his muscles to full power. It wasn't as if he normally felt weak, but living his day to day life was just not cutting it. He needed to feel alive, to feel free, and living dangerously was the only (logical) way he saw fit. The numerous attacks from Kane's bots, destroyers, H.O.U.N.D.s, and whatever his lust for power allowed his mind to conjure brought just enough action to Mike's life that it hardly seemed reasonable to add even more flare. But that's where logic flew out the window. With every action there is a reaction, every half has its other, and every day of action had its day of inaction.

And sometimes days of inaction. Perhaps a month, maybe two.

It didn't take a genius to figure out the vicious cycle that was soon to follow.

Mike needed the action, craved it actually. It was bad enough that the nagging idea of when Kane's next strike would be hovered over him, but to add placidity to it was pure torture.

He was adventurous by nature, and reckless to boot. So, finding ways to get his heart pumping and hands shaking was simply child's play. Motorcity-being the lovable junk yard of a place it was-was full of death traps and obstacles that just begged to be taken on.

...

Mike shifted gears and pushed the accelerator to the floor as he zipped along the suspended highways of the dark, dismal city he passionately called home.

"Just make sure you're back before I go back up to Deluxe," Julie's icon hovered over his dashboard, her voice halfway between annoyed and worried. Mike had abruptly made his exit with really no explanation. He simply needed to leave. Any longer and he would've cracked. He couldn't have his burners see this weakness.

Hell, he could barely stand seeing it for himself.

He had stood as Julie was mid-sentence, all the burners eyeing him warily.

"Goin' for a drive," he had mumbled. Leaving his friends stuttering and questioning as he walked out to the garage.

The icon's unwavering stare made the driver shift and squirm, tightening and loosening his fists on the steering wheel.

"I still have some intel on the upgraded software Kane's been using for the nano technology, and I _need_ to discuss it with you..."

Mike fought back a sigh, "Gotcha," he affirmed to Julie's icon, giving it a quick glance.

Her floating pixel pursed it's lips, unsatisfied with Mike's tone. However, Julie said nothing and simply signed off, leaving Mike to his own thoughts.

And to his addiction.

Mutt's roar rose and fell as Mike shifted gears again and again in sync with his increasing speed. Driving Mutt was a proper distraction from stress too, he supposed, but its meticulous, repetitive motions were quick to bore the burner. Especially since he drove every day-it was his schtick.

Mike cruised on for at least a half hour before finally spotting his next target. He leaned forward, hugging his steering wheel, as he strained his eyes upward. Through his windshield the mountainous pile of car parts, rubble, and metallic items of all shapes and sizes came into view. As he neared it, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Piece of cake," he said as he spun his steering wheel and screeched to a halt. Black streaks on the pavement traced the path behind Mutt, and a slight burning rubber smell wafted into the air. Mike closed the door with a small slam, letting the radiated heat from Mutt's engine sooth him a bit. After a moment, he put his hands on his hips and gazed up at the sight before him with determination frozen to his features.  
The scrap yard wonderland looked more than ready to be explored. Risky looking ledges, dangerous heights, and physics were all pretty much out of Mike's favor. Despite it all, he triumphantly concluded that his athletic abilities and gymnast-like acrobatics were going to make it a breeze.

Mike let out a soft chuckle, twitched his head sideways to briefly move his bangs out of his eyes (only to have them bounce right back in place), and took off running towards the scrap pile.

...

His leaps and flips echoed through the yard with a metallic twang. The colossal pile had proved to be more than adventurous, it was downright fun! Like a private playground made exclusively for Mike's personal enjoyment.

He stopped for a moment on a hood of a car that acted as a make-shift ledge. He held onto a led pipe that stuck out and leaned forward over the edge, gazing down at the piles of scrap which looked like they continued on for much longer than he originally anticipated. It was like a dark hole, an abyss, and it loomed with an eerie threat that even Mike was not crazy enough to explore...usually.

His eyes scanned the perimeter, analyzing the best pathway. He could already feel his special drug taking its effect. His body felt light, his muscles twitched in anticipation, and his pupils were wide in dilated excitement. No amount of Kane bots or gangs could ever bring him this satisfaction. The risk, the danger, the (yeah, he admits it) insanity of it all made Mike shiver. All of this was his doing. _He_ caused this rush. And that's what excited him the most.

To be the causation, to be the one in control; it was like a buffet feeding his feral desires until they were bloated and grinning. Not quite satisfied with what the scrap metal had to offer, Mike leaned back away from the edge and tugged on the pipe. His feet shifting on the car hood caused the weak surface to dent inward with a rusty pop.

Mike tugged again on the pipe; it seemed stable enough. He used both hands to pull himself up, climbing on the next scrap piece that was smaller than the car hood in diameter, but thicker and seemed sturdier. He turned around to see the view once again. Mike was at a height where he could almost see over the other piles. The ever-dark sky of Motorcity loomed above him, vast and mysterious. Below, the foreboding abyss seemed to call out to him, seducing him into a hypnotizing lull. Mike took a step out closer to the edge, only to have the metal shelf groan and lurch forward. He stopped, knees bending a bit and his hands splaying to his sides attempting to balance on thin air.

His heart thumped wildly for a short moment. And it felt so _damn_ good.

Mike knew he had a problem. Driving out to the middle of nowhere to climb a highly unstable scrap pile, simply on the motive of wanting a quick burst of exhilaration, it wasn't what sane people did. It wasn't even what insane people did.

It's just what Mike does.

The burner smiled widely as he shuffled his feet forward, moving that much closer to the edge. The metal piece groaned again, and his body shivered with an odd excitement that even he was too ashamed to really call it what it truly was. His eyes peered up through his fringe, scanning the elements around him once again. He spotted another make-shift ledge just across the way. It almost mirrored the surface he stood on now, a large slab of metal wedged between two cars; poking out in a teasing way that just cooed "jump."

And so, he would.

...

Mike bit his lip and zipped up his coat to his chin. The cold air bit at his skin as he pressed all of his energy into his legs, shifting quickly to the ledge and pressing his feet off the metal shelf. It shifted backwards at his pressure. This shift caused for an awkward take-off, but it didn't hinder Mike as badly as fate wanted. And he was in the air, soaring outward, legs stretched ready to reach his designated landing. The dark abyss below him seemed to moan and echo wantonly, pleading to consume him in one swift moment.

Mike felt as if he could fly. But of course, he knew he couldn't _really_...but it was nice to pretend. Time seemed to move in slow motion as he glided over the gap, adrenaline pumping though his veins like sweet nectar. It was all he could ever want, all he really needed. It was this moment, this precise moment that made Mike think it was truly all worth it.

To be alive, to be moving. Living fast, living Free. This is what it all meant.

Time resumed and the resulting event flashed forward before Mike could mentally process it.

His aim had been a little off, he could thank his shotty take-off for that, and he miscalculated the distance. His legs kicked out and his arms waved a bit as he tried his best to steady his course. Upon impact, Mike's hands grasped wildly onto the edge, just barely getting their hold. His body jolted into a stop, and his forearms burned as if they'd tear from the sudden weight. And that was just the thing that tipped the whole event, his weight.

The metal shelf gave way as soon as his body swung merely once. Mike barely had time to look up as the scrap piece came loose and sent him falling backwards into the darkness that willingly swallowed him. A raspy yelp was all that escaped his lips as he quickly disappeared into the gap, a few scraps and metal parts falling along with him.

...

Mike came back into groggy consciousness with a pounding headache. His eyes fluttered open weakly, and he lifted his head to give himself a half-hassled once over. It was dark, cold, and everything was man-made and hard. He shifted a bit only to be greeted by the clanging and shifting of metal objects. A low groan bellowed in his throat as he let his head lay back down on his scrap piece pillow.

As his pupils adjusted to the dark, the scene was beginning to clear up. He could see where he had fallen from, just barely. Thank God it wasn't actually a never ending abyss that had been taunting him this whole time. If it had been, well, a headache would be the least of his problems.

That's what confused Mike though. How was he relatively unscathed?

The brunette sat up and rubbed the back of his throbbing skull; quickly checking his fingers for any blood. Just as his eyes narrowed in on his hand, beyond his focus was a rather unfortunate looking display.

"Holy shit," Mike breathed as he slapped his hands on either side of him. He leaned back ever so slightly, as if he wanted to detach from his own body. He was trembling, heart still pumping and adrenaline still very much zipping through his blood. His arms shivered weakly under his weight.

He gazed down, horrified, at his shoe. The silver shard glistened with crimson as it pierced up through the fabric. He lifted his leg carefully and peered to see the other side. The second half the metal shard greeted him on that side as well as it stabbed through his sole, and more obviously, his foot. Mike whimpered and let his leg drop back down. His blood oozed out of the puncture due to this movement, and Mike felt the bile in his stomach rise to his throat.

There was no pain though. The adrenaline was living up to its expectations, thankfully. But, Mike was no idiot. Well, not an total and complete idiot. He knew the wound was bad, puncture wounds typically were. And on his foot no less. There was no way he was going anywhere any time soon.

With a trembling hand, he brought his comm to his mouth and turned it on with his chin. The signal was weak, and as it searched Mike laid back down, carefully. The metal scraps clanging and clanking in protest. As he stared up towards the point at which he fell, he thought he should probably pay more attention to the wound. It simply didn't hurt. And without pain, the sense of urgency was kind of hard to follow suit.

He was unaware of the growing puddle of crimson at the base of the metal shelf that lay just under him.

The other end picked up, and the voice barely came in through the static.

"Mike?"

Mike opened his mouth to speak, finding that his throat was incredibly dry. He paused a moment, simply letting out a long, shaky breath.

"_Mike_?" the other end repeated more earnestly through the strengthening signal.

"Chuck, I think I...might have screwed up. Royaly," he said in a tone barely above a whisper.

"Jesus, Mike. Where are you? Do you have any idea what _time_ it is? What happened? Did you go on a idiotic dare devil escapade again?!" Chuck fired his questions rapidly without giving any real pause for Mike to answer. His annoyance was clearly a sign of ignorance to Mike's current state. "One day you're gonna get yourself killed."

Mike let out a small chuckle. His vision went blurry, and a darkness began to tunnel around him. His mind became a foggy mess; dizzy and disoriented. He promptly forgot where he was, and his eyes rolled backwards.

"Ch-chuck..." once again he lost consciousness.

"Mike? Mike?! Are you there? Oh my God, Mike! Shit. Guys, something's wrong!"

The comm quickly turned off and the homing beacon activated, its green light blinking into the darkness.


	2. Testing the Limits

Blinking awake to a pounding headache was not something Mike wanted to become a routine. A half groggy, half whiny moan involuntarily escaped his lips as he sighed. For a moment, he forgot where he was and how he got there. The soft bed he laid on seemed foreign; he just couldn't seem to wrap his head around any solid thoughts.

His dangerous adventure had come to a screeching halt when he had that nasty fall. He remembers calling Chuck, but other than that, it was dark.

Mike let his eyes close again, slowly letting himself wake. And as his sleepy mind cleared it all came rushing back to him like the lousy adrenaline that got him in  
this situation in the first place. He turned his head and squinted at the figure sitting beside the bed.

"Finally awake, huh?" a familiar, soft voice laughed.

Mike blinked again and let Chuck come into focus through his dark lashes. By the look on his friend's face, he could tell he was not going to like these next few  
minutes.

"What," he began pausing for a moment to sit up, resting his elbows on the pillows, "what the hell happened?"

Acting as an answer, an immense pain shocked his system. He hissed through his teeth and whipped the blankets off. His foot was fully wrapped and was positively  
screaming at him. The pain shot through his leg, up through his ankle, feeling like a spider-web of daggers. His toes felt numb, and he was like 99% sure he was  
missing part of his heel, probably.

"_Shit_..." he whispered, all together exasperated and annoyed with himself.

Chuck shrugged and twisted his lips into a sideways smile. "Well," he paused trying to figure out the best way to put it, "you fell."

Mike shifted a bit, sitting back and resting against the headboard. "Yeah, I know that." He gestured to his foot with a questioning look.

"Ah," Chuck bit his lip. "Well, when you fell, your foot sort of...impaled itself on a scrap piece. It had been cut from a larger piece so it was pretty sharp. Crazy  
though, you must've been falling pretty fast to have it go all the way through your shoe and foot." As the blonde spoke, he fiddled with a chunk of his hair, studying  
it intently as if he could tell if the ends were split or not.

Mike sighed. He could not believe this had happened. How could he be so reckless?

Oh _yeah_, he'd been reckless for a while. But now that he actually had some real consequences, well, he was downright regretting his behavior. Hindsight is 20-20. If  
only he had been more patient. Taken up poetry or, hell, learned to paint from Dutch! If only he hadn't been such an idiot, he wouldn't be sitting here with a foot throbbing.

Moments passed as he wracked through all of these thoughts. He sighed again, letting his head fall back against the board with a small thud. "How long for recovery?"

He heard Chuck choke back a yelp. He opened his eyes and darted them to his friend. "Chuck..." he said, a little more assertively. Chuck chewed on his bottom lip and  
Mike wondered if it would start bleeding.

Chuck stood up and turned away, focusing on the rather complex first aid kit he had put together on the nightstand. "W-w-well," his usual weak and stuttering tone coming  
back at a rather inconvenient time, "since we had some trouble finding you, you lost quite a lot of blood. A-a-a-and, and, the wound was pretty bad. It's, uh, well, it's  
on your foot. Well, ok, you know that obviously. But, it well, it kind of is hard to tell..." he stopped shuffling around and turned towards Mike, who's stare was  
unchanging, patient and understanding to his friend's conversation issues. "Unless we can keep infection out, it's pretty hard to tell when it's gonna get better. And  
when it does...Mike, I'm not even sure your foot is gonna heal properly."

Mike Chilton sighed for what seemed a time too many. "You've gotta be kidding me." he mumbled, not quite wanting Chuck to hear it.

"I'm sorry."

Mike's heart hurt at those words. He narrowed his eyes as he stared at his hands. "It's not your fault, Chuck. You're the one who saved me right? If it weren't for you, I'd probably be still out there, drowning in my own stupidity. This is..." he gestured to his foot, "this is just what I get for being so..."

"Stupid?"

"Stupid."

Chuck let out a short laugh, but it was followed by a frown. It was a frown that spoke a thousand words and showed a thousand emotions. Chuck knew how this was going  
to effect his friend. He knew Mike better than any one on this planet. He understood why his leader had been going out, he knew why he would come home late some  
evenings with unexplained bumps and bruises. He just never spoke up. Chuck had always been worried about his friend, and he knew the day when Mike would just push it  
too far would come. Only now, I just wished he hadn't been right.

...

Chuck walked downstairs towards the garage, leaving Mike to attempt to sleep through his pain. He was the one that cleaned his wound, he was fully aware of just how  
much pain there actually was. There was no way Mike was going to get any decent sleep. Not right away, at least.

"Go on. Fine tune, Mutt would ya? Can't let her be neglected! I'll just nap and, uh, read a comic or something..." Mike had, unsuccessfully, reassured his friend. With  
some more pushing, he eventually got Chuck to (begrudgingly) agree to these terms; but promising that he'd be back in exactly three hours to check on him.

Kicking at some gravel, he eventually made his way through the "home," casually avoiding the pressing questions from the rest of the burners. Hiding under his bangs,  
he quickly glanced at Jacob, who in return gave him a knowing look. He took charge and boomed his voice over all the questions, declaring that the first person to try  
his new delicacy would be awarded with a new car part. Dutch, Julie, and Texas exchanged odd looks, and Chuck let this be his opportunity to escape.

He was not in the mood to talk, and simply did not have the energy to put on a mask for his friends' sake.

Usually towering over the others, Chuck let his natural curve of his spine shrink him down to as low as he felt.

He had blamed himself for this whole ordeal.

Of course, he would never tell Mike this. How could he? That would only trigger a guilt battle of who could carry the blame more than the other. Sometimes it was just  
plain annoying how polite and kindhearted Mike could be. Chuck wanted to be able to shoulder all the burdens himself. Why was it up to Mike to carry all the baggage?  
He was just as human as the rest of the burners, and yet he was the one who had the target painted on his forehead.

The blonde found his way to the garage, not really having any recollection of the journey there. He stared at Mutt. It was parked different than usual. This was  
because Dutch was the one to drive it back. And now that Chuck really looked at Mutt, it was not right. Mike would not be driving her for a long while, and it  
just seemed so wrong.

Chuck finally pulled up a stool and sat next to Mutt. He placed a soft hand on the hood, his chin falling to his chest.

"This is going to be a long recovery," he spoke to the car like speaking to a friend. "Mike is gonna miss you, he'll be down here for sure. God, he'll crawl down here  
if he has to."

He pat Mutt once, before standing back up and opening the hood. Maybe he'd add a little something special as a get well present for Mike.

...

Four days. That's all it took. Four days of laying around, trying to sleep, and muttering profanities at his foot before Mike felt like he was going to explode.  
He lay on his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He hummed a non-distinctive tune and played his stomach like a drum. Now that the pain wasn't exactly paralyzing, Mike was  
ready to move about and be done with it all.

His foot had other ideas.

Mike had been certain he could simply get right back in the game. He had sat up and tried walking, only to fall face first. Chuck had not been a happy camper after  
that. The brunette had to hide his smile as Chuck lectured him like a mother; spewing out reasons why he should stay in bed, get lots of rest, and has be bathed recently?

It was when Mike finally looked up at Chuck's expression that he finally felt his stomach drop. Chuck's bangs were clipped back out of his eyes, and they stared at him with an unwavering concern. Mike felt a twinge of guilt stab his gut. Chuck was his best friend, of course he was worried. Mike just hadn't noticed it since he was always caught up in his own world. The war with Kane, the rebuilding of Motorcity; these all clouded his vision to see what was right in front of him the entire time.

So, Mike surrendered. He promised, with _no_ fingers crossed, that he would be a good patient and listen to Chuck. The blonde promptly put him on "room arrest."

And considering he was still very much addicted to a certain pesky hormone, all this inactivity was the absolute opposite of what he thought he needed. Mike strained  
to listen to the sounds of his burners chatting and enjoying the lull from Kane attacks. Luckily for Mike's sanity, there hadn't been any activity from above as of yet.

Mike wasn't sure what he'd do if the red lights and alarm went off. Probably force Chuck to create an android stand-in for him. He smirked at the idea.

After a few more minutes of absolute, mind-numbing stillness, Mike was feeling restless. No amount of opening and closing his eyes would change that. He slapped his hands on the mattress, causing the blankets to puff up on either side of him.

"Oh my God," he moaned to himself a bit dramatically, "This. is. awful."

In his head, he briefly turned over the idea of making a really loud noise just to draw attention from the others. He decided against it because he wasn't entirely  
sure he wanted his burners to see him like this. In fact, he had realized that he didn't want his burners seeing a lot of sides of him. When did that start?

All this inactivity was good for brain work, but bad for his conscience. The more he thought, the more he really realized just how badly he messed up. He should have  
never let his impatient nature get the better of him. He should have lived up to the leadership qualities that so many people expected of him. He had let down his city,  
his friends, and most importantly, Chuck. Mike couldn't stop himself from wondering what type of expression Chuck made when he got that comm call; his imagination  
giving him a pretty good idea. It made him a bit queasy.

Oh well, it was too late to sulk on all of that now. He had screwed up, big time, and now he was paying for it. End of story.

Mike shifted a bit to sit up, sending one of his pillows over the edge of the mattress. Chuck had really gone kind of over board with the whole "make him as comfortable as possible" theme. He stretched his arms above his head, straightening his back. He heard a satisfying pop and crumbled back into horrible posture with a relieved sigh. For a moment, he looked around his room and mentally took note of everything he hated about it. Once he could walk around again, he was going to rearrange some things. Everything, actually. In fact, all of the useless things he had laying around were all going to go. He made this promise to himself once before, when he was bed-ridden with the flu. He wasn't exactly sure how much merit it held this time around, but it was kind of comforting to know he was at least trying to change for the better.

But for now, he was stuck in sweat pants and t-shirt in his overly soft bed. Doing absolutely nothing, and it felt so _damn_ boring. The polar opposite of how he felt just days  
before. Wind whipping his hair, muscles twitching, hands shaking. That odd, sensitive shiver he'd get right before he'd have his fix...

Now that he thought about it. He did sort of miss that feeling. It had made his body tingle with anticipation and would give him a satisfaction that he'd never really felt before.

It was, well, good. It felt _good_. It felt so _damn_ _good_ that he wanted, no, needed to feel it again.

Or, at least, the equivalent.

And "Nurse Chuck," as he so endearingly called him now, wasn't going to make his round for another hour. So, why the hell not? He was human after all.

Mike leaned over and opened the small drawer of his nightstand. He reached in to the way back, shuffling over some papers and an old oil filter. He felt around for  
a few moments and frowned. He could've sworn he had left some in there.

Things were just not going his way lately. He huffed, peeved at his predicament, and slid down against the headboard.

Not two seconds passed before he glanced quickly at his door; safely closed off from the rest of the world.

Tucking a hand behind his pillow and closing his eyes, Mike pressed his other on his groin. He lazily palmed himself through the fabric, letting his breath deepen with each downward movement. The pressure felt relaxing, offering just enough sensation and pleasure to tie him over for the moment. He hummed softly into his sigh.

Sure, it wasn't that _same_ feeling he got when risking his life on a insane adventure; but he wasn't going to complain.

...

Mike hadn't meant for it to get this far. He intended to just stifle his boredom, to get a taste of that pleasant shiver he'd grown so accustomed to. Before he knew  
it, his mind was wandering. Fantasies he didn't even know he enjoyed began to fill his mind, egging his hand to move faster. The growing tent in his sweat pants wasn't  
offering him much of a choice either.

He gripped his hard-on through the fabric and stroked. The feeling was muted, and a bit harsh on his skin. An unpleasant expression crossed his features as he let out  
a small moan. He shifted his good leg up, trying to get better access. When that proved inefficient, Mike scoffed and simply pulled on his waistband. A relieved puff  
of air escaped his lungs as his dick sprung out, standing at attention, practically mocking him. He grabbed his with his fist and hissed through clenched teeth. Working so  
many hours on Mutt had made his hands permanent sand paper. He wasn't going to get very far with just this.

Cum beaded on the tip and he glared at it. He wasn't nearly wet enough, but if he were to stop now he would surely die. There was no way that this inactivity curse was  
going to ruin his jacking-off schedule too. Not if he had anything to say about it.

Thinking quick, Mike turned onto his side-mindful of his foot-and grabbed a pillow. After a short pause (as if trying to convince himself it was worth it), Mike  
folded it in half around his cock, and he couldn't have felt more ridiculous. Despite this self-inflicted embarrassment, Mike continued. Grunts and sighs followed as he began to thrust. The fabric was cool, and it sent an exhilarating shiver through his body. It was quite nice; feeling almost identical to the shiver he _actually_ craved. The softness allowed him to move at any pace he  
wanted, and it didn't seem to be chaffing at all. Mike squeezed the pillow tighter as he rolled his hips forward, imagining it was something much better and tighter  
than he was thrusting into.

He kept going at it for quite some time. And soon, Mike began to get frustrated. He whimpered, defeated, as he grew tired. His hand, with whitening knuckles, cramped as it gripped the pillow.  
His climax was nowhere in sight and it was driving him up the wall.

"Come on," he moaned desperately.

It just wasn't fair.

Not only was he unable to go on his adrenaline rush, but he couldn't even get off without running into some kind of hiccup.

He pressed his face into his other pillow, feeling his hot breath moisten the fabric as he bit into it angrily. He needed more, he needed something different.

Something that would send his heart racing just like his adventures.

Something new.

Something..._no_.

His eyes popped open wide as his brain offered a suggestion.

Anything but that.

No. _God_, no.

Never.

Well...

He couldn't actually believe he was about to do this. He wasn't necessarily against it, but _really_? This is what it's come down to? Yeah, he definitely had a problem.

Mike quickly brought his hand out from under the pillow and popped his fingers in his mouth, moistening them with his tongue as it swirled around. As he pulled them out,  
his saliva shined and trailed along his lips. He stared at his fingers for a quick moment, his dark skin glistened in its new coat. Just looking at it made an odd wave  
of anticipation rush through him. Maybe he made the right choice after all. He gave a quick, shuttering sigh before moving his hand behind him.

"Jesus, _shit_," he said in an exasperated tone. His eyes squeezed shut as he pressed his finger against the ring of muscle. It was tight and offering little to no room  
for any kind of entrance. He attempted to relax, picturing his turn ons in vivid detail. Eventually, with some wriggling, he got it in. His sharp intake of breath  
practically caused him to cough. It was definitely different, and definitely new. He wasn't exactly sure if he liked it, but that bit of uncertainty was not enough to stop  
him.

His finger moved in and out, slowly, testing his limits. He easily found that his limits were, well, nonexistent.

Minutes passed and one thing led to another, and Mike had two fingers inside. He scissored them, causing his body to twitch and squirm, and God he had no idea he was  
into this. His breathing was uneven, and his lungs began to hurt as he switched from panting to holding his breath. Pushing into the knuckle, Mike let out a long  
groan. This was when he realized he wasn't even paying any attention to his front.

Odd. He had never forgotten about his dick before during something like this. It angrily throbbed in response.

His fingers pulled out and back in, his hips mimicking this movement. Over and over, again and again. Thrusting into the pillow, and into himself. It was a perfectly  
foreign combination that simply sent him over the edge. Minutes later, and Mike found himself coming harder than ever before. Every muscle tensed, and he pressed his  
face flat into his pillow, feeling his eyes roll back into his head. When his waves of orgasm finally subsided, for the first time in he couldn't remember when, he  
felt totally and utterly relaxed. His heart thrashed against his chest in powerful beats; his pupils dilated wide.

"Damn," he smiled as he turned to lay on his back, resting in his filth and not really caring. He still had time before his nurse made his round.

His chest rose and fell happily as his breath sighed in a blissful afterglow. Who needed adrenaline when you could have _that_?

Sometimes, being the Dare Devil had it's perks.

...

Chuck let his quivering fist hover just in front Mike's door.

No, he had definitely not heard what he _thought_ he just heard. That would be preposterous.

But maybe...?

**No**.

He was hearing things.

Oh God, it _totally_ was.

Chuck felt his face heat up involuntarily. The sounds that Mike had just been making traveled easily through the wooden door and straight to Chuck's crotch. The blonde  
had a feeling his friend really had no idea just how loud he was actually being. And now there was absolutely no way on God's green earth he could possibly look him in  
the eye.

"Ugh, Mike," Chuck whispered weakly, "you really gotta stop putting me through these emotional roller coasters."

He turned on his heel and dragged his feet away down the hallway. He thought maybe another half hour or so would be enough time. Or maybe never.

Never worked.

...

A knock on the door jolted Mike out of his nap. He quickly fell out of his sleepy haze and his arm felt like shattering glass because he had fallen asleep on it.  
He groaned a bit and said something that sounded like a "come in."

Chuck opened the door, a friendly smile on his lips that touched his eyes. His cheeks were constantly flushed a deep red recently. Mike didn't really understand, but never mentioned it out of politeness. Chucks bangs were yet again clipped up out of his eyes, and Mike couldn't help but stare. It was such a rare occurrence, but he could get used to seeing them.

The moment didn't last long though because Mike knew what it usually meant when Chuck had his bangs back. It meant it was time to change the bandages.

He promptly grabbed a pillow and slapped it to his face, a futile attempt to hide from the enemy.

"No," he declared in a rather uncharacteristically bratty tone.

He heard Chuck sigh and place the medical scissors on the first aid tray he had put together. Mike knew he was being unreasonable, seeing as he had done this every  
single time after the first change. But at this point in time, he really didn't care. An entire week and a half had already put Mike past his limits of charisma and positive  
thinking.

"Come on, bro," Chuck pleaded, "It'll go by a lot smoother if you'd just behave for once."

"I'd rather cut my foot off. Why don't we just do _that_?" Mike retorted into the pillow, his free hand waving about dramatically. "Seems like all the shit has hit the  
fan already, so why not add that to the mix?!"

"At least things are quiet for once, from Kane I mean," Chuck smiled and began cutting strips of the bandages. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy Mike's new attitude. If anything,  
it made him a lot less intimidating. And Chuck, well, he could _definitely_ use less intimidating people in his life. He turned and sat on the bed heavily, making Mike  
bounce. He saw Mike's hand press the pillow harder into his face, but he had no further resistance otherwise.

Chuck didn't say anything more as he fluffed the pillow under Mike's foot to give it more leverage, and carefully began to unwrap it. The first time he had taken a  
look at the wound, Chuck had practically fainted. But other than Jacob, Chuck was the only one who knew anything about medical care. His realistic LARPing had been a  
rather good tutor for him. He knew his friends would make fun of him for it later, but at the moment he was practically a savior.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and furrowed his brow. The wound was still looking pretty nasty. Not as bad as the first night. And after a few days of that, the wound had closed just enough to actually  
use stitches.

Now _that_ had bee quite the adventure.

Chuck had given Mike a leather belt and frown apologetically.

"What's this for?" Mike had asked as Texas and Dutch suddenly grabbed his hands and pushed them down against the mattress. Mike's eyes had widened, but his expression showed that he was pretty much comprehending. He let Dutch place the leather belt in his mouth.

"We kinda...ran out of anesthetic..." Chuck mumbled anyways, as he and Julie soaked the needles in alcohol.

Chuck shivered just thinking about the face Mike had made that night.

But now, at least all he needed to do was clean it and refresh the bandages. That was...relatively painless...or at least it _should_ be. But Mike was a squirmy dude, as  
if the ants in his pants were constantly having a party that literally no one was invited to except them. The blonde burner wanted to ask Mike about this twitchy-ness.  
Chuck always remembered that himself being the antsy one and Mike being...well, Mike.

Chuck lifted the last bandage off; it stuck only momentarily before popping off. That part was always the longest, since Chuck had to be extra careful not to agitate  
any of the stitches. It had been at least ten minutes before he finally got that last bandage off.

And right on cue, Mike began to fidget.

"No, Mike, come on. _No_!" He pressed his hands on Mike's knees, trying to hold him still.

"It hurts though!"

"It does not!"

"How would you know?"

"I know because...because I know! All right? Now, p-p-please, M-mike, just...would you just..." his voice quickly resorted back to its default whine and tremble as  
Mike began to turn over, and he quickly lost any authority he might have had.

Chuck deflated into a sigh, and flopped sideways on the bed to lay parallel to Mike-keeping his legs off the side. They laid there for a few moments in a silence that  
wasn't necessarily uncomfortable.

"Mike, you really gotta relax, buddy. Your crazy escapades, your literal addiction to danger. That crap is gonna get you _killed_. Shit, I thought you had died..."

Mike winced at those words. He knew this whole event had caused some tension between them. They weren't talking like they used to. Things were...weird, different. Despite Chuck's 24/7 care, Mike felt further and further away from him. And it hurt. A lot. More than he thought it would. He laid there, stewing in his painful thoughts for quite some time.

"Why don't you just, I dunno, find a different way to get your rocks off?" Chuck finally said.

There was no answer from Mike. Did he fall asleep?

Chuck sat back up and looked over his shoulder at the pillow where Mike's face should be.

"Mike, I said-"

"Yeah, I," Mike began a bit quietly. There was a short pause. "I heard you."

A few more moments passed before Mike moved the pillow away. Chuck greeted his gaze with a soft smile. It fell quickly as he saw the rather serious look on Mike's  
face.

"W-what?" Chuck felt his face heat up a bit as Mike's stare lasted longer than comfortably allowed. Chuck's brain had pretty much hated him ever since the little incident from days earlier. It would spring up and say 'hey, remember _this_?" and yes, yes Chuck remembered it. Rather vividly, in fact.

"We're friends right?"

"Um, yes?"

"And friends...ahh, friends do, um, things for each other, right?"

"...yes?"

"Chuck, if I asked you something really, _really_ weird...would you..." his voiced trailed off, as if he were rethinking his decision to say whatever he was about to  
say.

Chuck couldn't say for sure how much time passed. He opened his mouth a few times, but promptly closed it because he swore Mike looked like he was going to say  
something more. And of course, he didn't. Mike's gaze eventually shifted and he let his head fall into his hands, letting out an exhausted groan. He rubbed his eyes  
with the balls of his hands and whispered, _"Jesus Christ..._"

"Mike?" Chuck let his hand fall onto Mike's knee.

"Chuck, will you blow me?"


End file.
